


No Longer Allowed

by Ranowa



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crack, Gen, Hurt!Ed, Hurt!Roy, Parental Royed - Freeform, Post-Series, What Have I Done
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-11-04 14:45:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10993083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ranowa/pseuds/Ranowa
Summary: "Yep, that's it, Fullmetal. I'm friends with Hohenheim. That is why I am not going to go hunt down his grave, dig up his corpse, and punch him for you. That is exactly why." Hurt!Ed, Hurt!Roy, Parental RoyEd, crack fic, and... Hohenheim?





	1. Dash of Edward Elric

**Author's Note:**

> Set in one of those vague AUs where it's post-series, but Ed's still got his alchemy and automail. We all like that one, right? Whatever, it's not a plot heavy fic, loose setting is acceptable...

"I hereby declare that Edward Elric is no longer allowed to partake in alcohol. Any at all. Ever. Aiding him in deviation of this ruling is punishable by death. Edward, if you somehow break this law without any assistance, then I will remove your arm and beat you over the head with it until you are unconscious. That is all."

" _Fuck you you're not even Fuhrer yet YOU CAN'T MAKE ANY LAWS_ _ **I HOPE YOU DIE IN A DITCH YOU ROTTEN SON OF A-"**_

"The new law has been recorded, sir," Hawkeye responded calmly, writing away on the folder in her lap to set the new ordinance into stone. "Is there anything else?"

"What?!" Ed screeched. "You, too, Hawkeye?! Come on, isn't this an abuse of power?! Why don't you shoot him for this?!"

She gave him an incredulous look, as if the statement was simply ludicrous. "Because he's already been shot, Edward. Being shot more than once would be unfairly punitive."

" _More_ than once..." the bastard whined, clutching at his heart. " _More than once,_ she says. Why is just once okay? Come on, Hawkeye; must you be so cruel? Can't you take pity on me for this? _Just this once?"_

"Because you've already used the _just this once_ excuse to get out of paperwork, sir. Three times. This past week."

Ed chortled, and Mustang let his head droop, crestfallen. Beaming in satisfaction, he sat back and tucked an arm behind his head, settling in comfortably. "So, since we can all agree that one's full of shit, then-"

"Absolutely not, Edward," Hawkeye interrupted, not even needing for him to finish that sentence. "His law still stands."

" _What?!"_

"Oh, I agree with her, Brother," Al piped up from his corner, completely betraying him, just like that, and all with an innocent smile. "Given how this turned out, I think it's safest if we just follow what General Mustang says."

Ed stared at him in horror, valiantly ignoring the smug chuckle that came from his left. "Okay, things may have gotten a little out of hand-" he began, trying to sound persuasive and convincing.

"You're both in hospital beds, Brother."

"...Okay, a _lot_ out of hand- _but it's still entirely his fault! HIS! Not mine, HIS!_ He does _not_ get to blame me, not this time!"

" _MY_ fault?! _You're_ the one who-"

"Gentlemen, please," Hawkeye reprimanded stiffly, her eye twitching in annoyance. "We've already gotten complaints twice that the entire floor can hear you."

Ed huffed, forced to only have the out of glaring furiously at the bastard, wishing he had the benefit of being close enough to punch him. Mustang returned the glare in kind, fingers twitching like he wanted to snap, and Ed decided that the moment Hawkeye and Al were gone, the jerk was getting a pillow to the face.

Al spoke up again, though Ed could tell by his voice that he wanted to postpone the upcoming fight just as much as find out the answer to his question. "I still don't really understand how all this happened, though. I mean... just..." He paused for a moment, struggling to put his incredulity into words. He gestured between the two of them, still looking somewhat stunned. "What exactly... how much went wrong for you two... in what way did you two screw up so badly to... I mean... just, _how."_

The both of them looked between each other, glaring daggers the moment their eyes met, and Ed reluctantly had to concede his brother had a very, very good point.

He knew he had a reputation for attracting insanity and chaos, but really, this was beyond even his standards.

Next to him, Mustang raised a hand, and Ed could tell without even looking at him that he was smirking. "Well, that's simple, Al. It all started four years ago, when your brother decided to become a pain in my ass and-"

"I meant what happened a couple days ago, sir."

He smirked again. "As I said, it's simple. It all started four years ago-"

"Oh my _god,_ just shut the fuck up and let me tell it, bastard."

"And why would I do that?"

"Because," Ed growled, gritting his teeth in irritation, "if you don't, I'll kill you."

"...So, it all started four years ago-"

" _I'll tell Hawkeye the thing you told me not to!"_

Finally, that woke him up.

Mustang stared at him, eyes suddenly blazing. He ground his teeth and seethed silently at him, and Ed just smirked victoriously all the while, knowing he had won. At last he sat back with an enraged huff, folding his arms stiffly and looking annoyed enough to kill someone. "Kindly go and jump into an active volcano, Fullmetal," he snarled, and, beaming, Ed turned away from him and began to explain how everything had gone wrong.

"All right. This all started when the bastard over there turned into General Idiot..."

* * *

Edward Elric, legendary the People's Alchemist, youngest State Alchemist in the history of Amestris, world renowned Fullmetal extraordinaire, had a plan.

It was a perfect plan, absolutely foolproof and flawless to every last detail. He _knew_ it would work, work so well Colonel Bastard would never even know the difference. It was _perfect._

He was going to get a drink. And he was going to get it, because Mustang was going to give it to him.

And it had all started because Colonel Bastard was an absolute _bastard._

" _Are you joking, Fullmetal? I'm not buying you alcohol. You're SIXTEEN."_

" _Yeah, yeah, we literally overthrew the government. I'm supposed to believe you care that much about breaking the law you won't even buy me a drink? I just want to taste it, hell."_

" _What? No, it's not the law I'm concerned about. It'd be irresponsible of me, Ed. I'm not buying a kid, especially one your size, alcohol."_

" _WHO ARE YOU CALLING SO SMALL ONE DROP OF BOOZE WOULD KILL HIM?!"_

" _That would be you."_

Right.

Like he'd said.

_Bastard._

And, all because of _that,_ Ed had stuffed himself into formal wear, reluctantly combed his hair, and, groaning all the while, sat glumly in a taxi and asked to be driven to Fuhrer Grumman's estate.

It was the antique's birthday. Ed had been a little surprised when the invitation had turned up in his mailbox, having long since retired from the military and never having even met him. But, he and Mustang were the faces of the government revolution that had happened on the Promised Day, Al had explained; it only made sense the new Fuhrer would try to stay on good terms with the both of them.

He'd not been planning to go at all, absolutely _nothing_ about a military function appealing to him more than a night in the library.

The prospect of getting back at Mustang had changed his mind.

Currently, Ed stood near the back of the ballroom, in phase one of his plan. Grumman had yet to make his entrance, allowing his guests to mingle- Ed had dodged attempts at conversation from three generals and one already drunk colonel so far- and lingered in a corner, his eyes on his target. Mustang was right in the thick of things, cheerily talking up high ranking officials- the bastard hated small talk as much as he did, but he sucked it up to climb the political ladder- and very best of all, his full wine glass was in hand.

Ed snickered, rubbing his hands together.

Time to initiate phase two.

Phase two being Catherine Armstrong.

Catherine approached, smiling very sweetly, and Ed moved just close enough to eavesdrop, grinning all the while. He pretended to be fussing with a tablecloth, remaining out of Mustang's sight, but he couldn't stop a chuckle when Catherine finally made contact.

"Oh, General Mustang! How nice to see you here!" Flutter of eyelashes, faint flush of shyness...

"Miss Armstrong! I didn't realize you were here, as well. How have you been?" _Hook, line, and..._

"Quite well, General. Actually, sir, I was wondering... would you care to dance?" Cute flush again, small, charming smile for good measure.

Mustang chuckled. "Dance to no music, Miss?"

"Of course. Dancing without music is an art passed down through the Armstrong family for generations, General!"

Ed faltered, wincing a bit. Right. Even cute, she was still an _Armstrong._

Mustang seemed to have had a similar reaction, turning away to cover his mouth with one hand, shuddering. "You really are your brother's sister," he said weakly, but Catherine did not give him the time to recover from being reminded of Alex Louis.

"Thank you kindly for the compliment, General." She held out a hand then, smiling so sweetly again. "But you wouldn't leave a lady waiting, would you?"

"I... well, of course not, Miss Armstrong." He took the proffered hand in his, then left his wine glass down on a nearby table with a flourish, taking her away from the table with a twirl.

Ed nearly burst out laughing.

He'd been right: the lecher couldn't resist a young, pretty woman flirting with him- even if he looked like a complete idiot right now, dancing through a crowd of staring generals without a beat of music and Armstrong's sister in his arms.

"Pervert," he muttered under his breath, snickering, then turned his attention towards the wine glass left abandoned on the table. Time for phase three.

Fuhrer Grumman's entire estate was over an anti-alchemy array, an ingenious beauty of equations that managed to perfectly match any alchemic energy produced within it and cancel it out. It had made planning a little more difficult, but Ed wasn't a genius for nothing, after all. Alchemy wasn't his _only_ recourse. Ed swiftly picked up Mustang's glass, replacing it with his own water, then dunked in the red food coloring. It mixed in after a few swirls, and with another surreptitious glance across the room to check on Mustang, he added a few shakes of the salt on the table.

After all, he couldn't very leave the substitute tasting like water. Mustang would notice. The fact that it'd leave the bastard coughing up salt water was just a bonus.

Wine now in hand, Ed stood back to observe his victory, grinning all the while. He looked across the ballroom for Mustang, searching for any sign of _his_ pervert general amongst all the others- but there was nothing. _Where'd that bastard get off to?_

"Fullmetal?"

Ed nearly spilled his ill-gotten goods all over the carpet.

"M-Mustang!" he stammered, whirling back around to find general standing directly behind him. "How'd you- ...what the hell happened to you?"

The general grimaced bitterly, rubbing the bright red, perfectly formed handprint on his face. "Olivier Armstrong happened," he groused, picking up the red salt water from the table without a second glance. "She saw me dancing with her younger sister and was... displeased."

"Serves you right, lecher."

"Catherine's the one who approached me!" Mustang sputtered indignantly, rubbing at the slap again. "I didn't- I'm ten years her senior, for god's sake! She just- whatever. I'm just glad to have gotten away with my skin." He raised the glass to his lips, then blinked, looking at him closer. "...So, you scammed someone into getting you a drink after all."

Ed snickered again. "Something like that. What, you still going to try and be _responsible_ and take it from me?"

Mustang shrugged unconcernedly, one eyebrow raised in outright amusement. "No. Now I'm not being irresponsible, whichever general that gave you the drink is." He looked out over the rim of his glass, mouth twitching in a restrained smile. "Well, Ed? You going to partake in your ill-gotten goods or just stare at it?"

"...You're looking at me weird."

The general's grin broadened. "Yes. I'm currently trying to decide how much liquor your pipsqueak body can handle. The first time a kid drinks is always amusing, after all... I'm going to have to stick close to you throughout the evening to enjoy myself to the fullest."

Another smirk.

_Should've poisoned his glass, damn it._

"I'm. Not. A. _Kid."_ And, that said, Ed gave the general another vicious look of irritation and tossed back a gulp of wine.

Then promptly had to lock his teeth together to stop himself from spitting it right back out again.

"Something wrong, Fullmetal?" Mustang prodded smugly, eyes glinting in amusement, and it took about everything he had not to gag.

It was fucking _vile._

Somehow shaking his head, Ed gritted his teeth and swallowed the mouthful, shuddering violently as it went down. And fuck, the aftertaste was even worse. It tasted like straight liquid medicine, for god's sake. This was _horrid._

Mustang chuckled quietly, eyes bright. "I see your taste buds haven't _matured_ enough to enjoy the taste of a fine wine, Fullmetal. Not to worry. It is an _adult_ drink, after all; I couldn't expect a _child_ to be able to enjoy it." Nodding sagely, Mustang tilted his own drink before reaching out a hand to take Ed's.

He jerked back, flesh hand clenching around it and metal fist clenching with the urge to punch the smug smirk straight off his face. "Don't know what the hell you're talking about, bastard," he snapped, and took another sip. "S... see? I l-love... it."

"Really."

Another forced, disgusting mouthful. _"_ Yep _. Really."_

"...Edward, you really expect me to believe- oh, come on."

...

"Ed, there's no need-!"

...

"Ed, come on!"

...

"God, you're going to make yourself sick."

Ed met Mustang's flat, incredulous stare without flinching, swallowed the last mouthful, shuddered, then let the now empty glass drop down to the table. "S... s... see?" he snapped when he could talk again, wincing at the downright sickening taste in his mouth, and found himself fighting the urge to cough. Or vomit. "T-totally... loved it."

"I can see that," Mustang said, smirking again, and Ed swallowed back bile that tried to rise at the repulsive aftertaste.

The general rolled his eyes, shaking his head at him. "Just don't come crying to me when you feel like shit about ten minutes from now." He drank from his own glass, then stopped short the moment he got the first taste, pulling a face. It looked like it was just as hard for him to swallow as it had been for Ed, and the displeasure on his face was just about the only thing that could've made him feel better in that moment.

"Never tasted wine like that before," Mustang said, face still set in a grimace, and delicately set the almost untouched drink back down on the table. "I take back what I said earlier, Fullmetal. This is terrible, whether you're a kid or not."

Ed raised an eyebrow, barely able to stop a victorious grin. "Oh, you don't like it, General? I thought it was a drink for _adults._ Guess I'm just more grown up than you!"

Mustang looked close- _so_ close- to rising to the challenge and guzzling salt water. Ed was almost bouncing with anticipation when Mustang raised the glass again, but one sip later and the general shook his head, making another face and putting it back down for good.

"I'm sorry, nothing is worth that. Enjoy your wine, Fullmetal."

Ed got the feeling Mustang would've tipped his hat if he had had one, the general bidding his farewell before inserting himself directly back into conversation with the other mingling officials. Ed watched him for a moment, still smirking victoriously, then coughed and went to go hunt for food.

* * *

The next time Roy saw Ed, the kid was staring out into space.

Which wasn't that concerning, but, five minutes later, when Roy exited his conversation with a southern general and found that Ed still hadn't moved an inch, he worried something could be wrong.

He glanced at his pocket watch, frowning. Twenty minutes since their last interaction. Given Ed's small stature, and that it was his first drink in his life, Roy would've expected him to be showing something by now- he certainly would've expected something besides blankly staring at nothing.

Extricating himself from another budding conversation, Roy slid between the crowd of people and approached his former subordinate, trying to meet his glazed stare. Ed showed no sign he could even see him, and Roy bit his lip, trying not to worry.

"Fullmetal," he called quietly, and when that didn't elicit a single change in his condition, Roy stepped forward again, standing directly in front of him. "Hey. Ed."

Golden eyes blinked slowly, but his blank expression didn't waver at all. He swayed a little, obviously unsteady, and Roy's hand shot out to grip his shoulder, holding him in place. The contact made him blink again, but his eyes remained empty of recognition, and Roy grimaced, mind racing. What was going on? He wasn't drunk, and one glass of wine wouldn't have gotten him there, anyway. But he'd really seemed fine just twenty minutes ago...

At a loss, Roy both put his hands on the boy's shoulders and shook him firmly again, still trying to not attract any attention. "Edward! _Edward!"_

Ed blinked again, a hazy, confused look filtering into bleary eyes. His mouth moved silently before he blinked again, and this time, Ed met his stare.

"Ge... General?" he mumbled, sounding unbelievably confused, and he blinked uncertainly again. "I..."

Roy bit his lip, concern still rising. "Ed," he pressed, lowering his voice belatedly at an uncertain look from a nearby colonel. "Ed, are you all right?"

"...'M really... tired..."

Tired? The kid was more than tired, Roy knew that just looking at him- but the lack of real coherency was worrisome. He glanced around the ballroom for a few moments, nervous, then tightened his grip on Ed's shoulder, leaning down so they were eye to eye. "Okay, Edward, do you think you can walk?"

A long silence followed, very little comprehension in Ed's gaze, and then a mumbled, "Yeah..."

He pursed his lips. "Okay. We're going to go for a little walk, then. Just outside; some fresh air. All right, come with me, Ed, come on- woah, steady, now!" He gripped Ed's shoulder even tighter when the kid's legs almost crumpled, struggling to both keep him upright and stop the others around him from realizing something was wrong. "Come on, Ed, this way... "

Ed was barely on his feet by this point; Roy had to lead him from behind, both hands on his shoulders and pushing him as quickly as he could without causing the kid to topple. Roy went for the nearest door that he could, the exit to the balcony all the way across the room and he wasn't about to try and get Ed that far with all these people watching. Right now his primary concern was just to get the kid away from the party; once out of the room, then he could take a closer look and see what was really going on.

The closest exit took him to a small servant's room, and he roughly yanked the door shut behind him without care, tugging his subordinate over to a window. He unlatched and opened it before pulling Ed even closer, trying to get him to feel the cold draft blowing in from outside. "Ed, come on, focus. Try and wake up a little."

Ed shook himself a little in the cold blast of wind, but not nearly as much as he should have. "'M fine, Col- General," he slurred tiredly, then tried to shake the hands off his shoulders. "What're you d-doing, pervert?"

Roy grimaced, still keeping a cautious hand on Ed's shoulder in case he started to fall. "Trying to help you," he muttered under his breath, then reached up to feel his temperature and pulse. No fever, his heartbeat seemed normal... "Ed, look at me. Hey! Edward!"

"...What?"

Really concerned now, Roy impatiently palmed Ed's chin, forcing him to turn around then holding him still, searching for more symptoms. Dilated, distracted eyes met his, and Roy stared.

"...Ed, did you take something?!"

Ed blinked, the biting irritation in his voice and the cold, fresh air finally enough to rouse him a bit. "Wha... like, drugs? No!"

"You're _sure?"_

" _Yes,_ Mustang!"

Roy grimaced again. "How much did you have to drink?" he pressed, and Ed's bleary glare intensified.

"Nothing! Just... just your wine..."

"But that doesn't make any sense. Just one glass wouldn't- wait, _my_ wine?"

Ed blinked again, mumbling something unintelligible. He raised a heavy arm to rub his eyes, fingers fumbling and missing their target a few times, then sighed in resignation. "Yeah. The wine was yours. ...I switched our glasses."

...

Unbelievable.

Absolutely _unbelievable._

"Ed, what the _hell-"_

"Leave me alone, bastard," the kid groused, batting off his hand. "I'm sixteen, can drink if I... if I want."

"From _my_ glass?!" Roy stared at him disbelievingly, but at the still glazed stare that was his only response, he took a step back and rubbed at the bridge of his nose, taking a breath. _Priorities, Mustang,_ he reminded himself. There'd be plenty of time to chastise the kid for this later, when Ed wasn't sick.

Sick in a way that made no sense, he remembered, looking him over again. Twenty minutes ago, Ed had been perfectly fine, and the only thing that had happened in the interim was the addition of a single glass of wine. A single glass of wine meant for him.

Roy groaned.

And, there it was.

"Damn thing was probably poisoned," he muttered, fist clenching. As a highly ranked military officer with many enemies with just as many stars on their shoulders, assassination attempts were not terribly uncommon. After the Promised Day, it had gotten worse, generals still loyal to Bradley lurking in the military and going after him as the face of the coup d'etat that had taken place that day.

And Ed, because _of course_ this was how things would turn out, had stolen the poisoned drink meant for him.

"You are the unluckiest kid in the world, you know that?" he muttered, taking Ed by the arm and turning him around. "Come on. We've got to get you out of here."

Ed hummed at him disinterestedly at him and swayed, seeming to be zoned out again, and Roy groaned, chewing nervously at the quick of his thumb. This was not good. He paced quickly back to the door to the ballroom, still holding his former subordinate upright, and paused stiffly, searching through the window for the quickest beeline to the exit.

What he saw instead made him curse.

The exit was directly across the room, about as far away from them as it could be. And in between them and freedom were all six generals, himself excluded, all ten of Central's colonels, the Fuhrer himself, and...

Two men, dressed as security and not party guests, were walking steadily right towards him. Both were reaching, not so subtlety, for their sidearms.

_...Shit._

"Edward?" he prodded quietly, waiting in nervous tension until the kid gave a mumbled sort of recognition at him to continue on. "Remember when you said you could walk?"

"Y... Yeah..."

"Well, you think you can give me the same answer if I asked you about running?"

...

"Uh, Edward?"

His belated answer came in a muted thump from behind him and a heavy tug on his arm, and a look over his shoulder saw that Ed's legs had given out on him, and now he sat crumpled on the floor, blinking hazily and trying to swallow a yawn.

"Yeah," he mumbled tiredly after a moment, still staring at the floor. "Yeah... I think I could run..."

"You've got to be _kidding_ me. You can't even stand!"

"...Mmm..."

Rolling his eyes, Roy turned back to look through the door and found the two men were still headed their way. He had less than a minute now- and was very woefully unarmed. His ignition gloves were worthless on the entire estate, his gun was locked away at home, and Ed, normally a veritable force of nature, was currently nearly asleep and drooling on his shoe.

"Damn it, Fullmetal, this is all your fault. _Somehow, some dammed way,_ this has got to be your fault." He knelt down in front of him, tugging insistently on his arm. "Come on! You were awake enough to walk over here; you're awake enough to get on my back!"

"Wha- _pervert!"_

Roy scowled. Figured; that would wake him up. "I'm going to need my hands, Fullmetal. I can't carry you. I don't like it any more than you, now get on my back, and you damn well better hang on, because if you fall off I'm not coming back for you!"

"Oh, go to hell, you old bastard!" But two arms did- reluctantly- wind around his neck, even with the added jab by his ear. "You breathe a word of this to anyone, and you... I'll... uh..."

Roy rose with a grunt, hefting Ed more securely onto his back. He glanced worriedly around the room then staunchly set off in a random direction, headed anywhere that was not towards his armed pursuers, gritting his teeth with the effort. "Quite eloquent, Fullmetal."

"Shut up. My brain's broken."

Taking another breath, Roy headed down the hallway as fast as he could with a lanky sixteen year old draped across his back. He slipped through another doorway just at the sound of a door slamming open behind him and picked up the pace, gritting his teeth. How the hell had it come to this?!

Of course, it wasn't really a question. Take a nice night of dancing with fine women and drinking fine wine, add a dash of Edward Elric, stir thoroughly, and voila. Complete disaster in the making.

Roy darted through another door, groaning when he found yet another hallway and still nothing to point him to the exit. There was another slam behind it, instantly followed by a shout of, _"General Mustang, wait!"_

"Yeah, so you can shoot me this time? Don't think so." Panting, he turned down another hallway, already struggling to keep up his initial pace. Ed weighed heavier and heavier on his back by the second, metal leg clunking against his back and metal arm achingly heavy on his chest. He swerved into the nearest side room with another gasp, stumbling against the wall to make even an attempt at catching his breath.

"Out of shape, are you?"

He scowled between gasps, fists clenching. "Maybe if you didn't weigh twice as much as someone your tiny size should..."

" _Who are you calling so short they'd drown in one stepstool to get out of bed?!"_

"...What?"

There was a second of uncertainty, then the added weight of Ed's head dropped onto his shoulder, coupled with a groan. "My brain's turning off, Mustang," he mumbled tiredly, and the flesh hand curled subtly to grip his collar. "Seriously. Hurry up."

There was a low quaver in Ed's voice then, a tremble so faint he almost missed it, but it was there. It gave him pause, stilling shoulders that had started to shake under the weight. The kid was clearly scared... trying to hide it, but still, scared. Not of their nameless, second-rate pursuers, but the poison itself. Ed was aware enough to realize something was wrong with him, and for a genius, to have his own mind fail him had to be one of the most frightening things that could happen.

_Right. Number one priority isn't to outrun these people, it's to get Ed to a hospital._

He shut his eyes for a moment, forcing in a single deep breath before squeezing the human hand resting on his shoulder. "Hang in there, Ed," he muttered, muting the worry that tried to surface. "Just give me a few more minutes... hang in there."

* * *

Being given a piggyback ride by Mustang.

 _So_ far from his finest moment.

At least he was in too much of a haze to really be bothered by it, he reflected lethargically, watching the hallway spin around him in a dizzying mess of color. He thought he could hear Mustang speaking to him, saying something, but for the life of him Ed had no idea what it was. Not like it mattered. It was probably insults, anyway. _Shortstack_ and _pipsqueak_ and _so tiny you need a ladder to climb stairs._

Mustang swerved left, huffing and puffing the whole while, and everything flipped as the general abruptly lowered him to the ground. Ed shut his eyes, groaning; his stomach clenched and he curled tighter against the wall in hopes the nausea settling inside him wasn't about to become the newest symptom.

The general stood in front of him again, at least, he assumed the black and white blur speaking urgently to him was Mustang. Once again the words passed straight over his head, and he just watched the head bob amusedly, making up the words as they blurred and slurred out of his mouth. _...and you're more amazing than I'll ever be, metal is so much cooler than fire, I've actually been lying all these years, you're taller than me, you're a giant and I'm a shrimp..._

"Yeah," Ed mumbled, chuckling, "you got it."

The hand withdrew from his shoulder and then Mustang was gone. Without any reason to still try and pay attention, Ed just let his head drop, leaning it against his knees and breathing hard, trying to stop himself from throwing up. Shit, he felt like shit, god he was going to get sick all over the dammed expensive suit, and _never_ would Mustang let him hear the end of it...

By some miracle, keeping his head down and just breathing finally managed to cool the nausea into something controllable. At last he managed to look up from his knees, squinting as the room spun again. He could see a blurry Mustang standing a few feet away from him, hands held up in surrender, the general talking at someone that stood by the door. Ed took a moment to consider the situation, then shook his head tiredly and leaned it back against the wall. He was fine. He was probably fine.

Another few blinks later, and Mustang was on the floor, wrestling wildly with his assailant. The sight perked him up a little, clearing the fuzz from his head enough for him to lean forward and shake a fist. _"Hey!_ You! Your poison _sucks!_ "

"Oh, _now's_ when you decide to chime in?! Not when he- _ow!-_ shot at me; no, _now?!_ "

Ed scowled, glaring at the general. Asshole. He didn't really know _why;_ nothing the bastard had said was that bad, but, _asshole._

When one of Mustang's kicks came perilously close to taking his head off, Ed decided it would be best to try and get out of arm's reach. His head felt like it was still floating around a hundred miles away; walking just wasn't gonna happen, and he slumped into a stomach crawl, pulling himself weakly along the floor. When he reached the open exit he fumbled for the doorknob, struggling to swing it shut so he could have something to lean against, then shifted back to watch the fight.

Which was, unfortunately, over rather quickly.

Ed only got to see Mustang sock the guy in the face and that was that. Nameless assailant slumped in an unconscious faceplant, now dead to the world, and the general, after kneeling there on the floor for a few breathless moments, punched on a limp shoulder again. "That's for trying to break my nose." Another hit. "That's for shooting at me." And then a third hit, this time to the back of the head. "And _that's_ for poisoning my subordinate!"

"Former subordinate," Ed supplied breezily, tongue heavy.

"And once again, you choose to chime in at the most opportune moment. Really, it's been a pleasure to spend this little misadventure with you, as always, Fullmetal." The general kicked the man's gun away from him before reaching into his suit pocket, withdrawing a pair of handcuffs.

Ed blinked at the sight of Mustang cuffing the man's hands behinds his back. It took him a few moments to realize why it looked so odd, and he cursed his fuzzy head again, suddenly wishing Mustang had gotten in another punch for his poor brain's sake. "Why do you have handcuffs with you? You're not working tonight."

The general didn't look at him, still focusing on securing the would-be assassin. "Well," he said after a moment, "I may or may not have had plans with a lady to meet in her bedroom after this. And said lady may or may not have asked me to bring them."

...Yeah. He was definitely going to throw up.

"Ew, _ew ew ew,_ ewwwww, god mind bleach, give me some _fucking_ mind bleach, those mental images _ewwwwww-"_

"I'm going to not take offense that you apparently find me so hideous you want to retch," Mustang muttered, giving the man one final look before raising his head to meet his gaze, "and... what."

"What?"

"... _What the hell, Fullmetal?!"_

Ed stared at him, completely at a loss. _"What?"_ he pressed again, annoyed, blinking as the general abruptly rose and pointed wildly at the door behind him, eyes wide.

"Why the hell is the door shut?! Why'd you close the _fucking door?!"_

"What's your problem?!" Ed shot back, head still spinning. He leaned back, hissing through gritted teeth, and reached up for the knob again. "It bothers you so much, just open... hey, why's it not opening?"

Mustang cursed, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "Because it locks from the outside, pipsqueak! Which _I told you!_ I told you to leave the door _open!_ That was literally all you had to do!"

"What?! You never told me that!"

"Yes. I. _Did!_ When I put you down! I told you to leave the door open! And you said _yeah, got it!_ What the actual hell, Fullmetal?! That door is solid steel! I can't break it down! For fuck's sake, we're stuck here now! With _this_ idiot!" He kicked the limp body on the floor in aggravation and turned away again, rubbing his face with one hand.

Ed's gut chose that moment to clench with nausea again, and he had to struggle very hard not to throw up.

When he managed to finally turn his attention back outward again, nausea and lethargy still struggling to sweep him under, Mustang had turned back to face him, the general looking calmer now but still clearly struggling not to snap at him. "...fine," he was saying, "Captain Hawkeye is here tonight; she'll find us. That woman's got a sixth sense when it comes to me being in trouble, I swear. We'll just have to wait a little longer." He ran a hand over his face again, shaking his head, before darkly concerned eyes returned to him, gaze looking him up and down in careful, critical examination. "... _Can_ you wait that long, Ed?"

Ed struggled to contemplate the honest question, head still spinning. Could he? It was hard to see, even harder to keep himself grounded in the room and the present conversation. His limbs felt so far away, so heavy, his head like it was stuffed full of cotton, and he had the very distinct feeling that he was going to be able to stop himself from throwing up for much longer.

"...Yeah," he mumbled tiredly, the words sounding distant and far away. "Yeah, I can wait."

Because even if he said no, there wasn't really anything the general could do about it.

Mustang sighed, watching him worriedly for a few moments longer before he gave in with a resigned nod, grimacing. "Okay. But if you start to feel worse, you've got to tell me."

"Mmm," Ed mumbled noncommittally, tired gaze wandering over the general's form again before it froze, zeroing in on what he hadn't expected to find. "Uh... General?"

"Yes?"

"You said the guy shot at you, right?"

The general shrugged in disinterest, tugging at his collar to loosen his tie while watching the slumped, unconscious criminal on the floor. "Yeah, so?"

"...You're bleeding, Mustang."

Mustang blinked, turning to look back at him, then following his finger point to stare downwards at his own leg. There, high up on his thigh, was a small bullet hole.

The small blood stain, almost missed against the black fabric, was spreading.

"Oh," Mustang said vacantly after a moment. He tilted his head to the side, staring at the wound as if he didn't quite understand it, then smiled pleasantly. "So I am."

Then the general hit the floor.


	2. Bastard

It took Ed a few seconds to jolt himself into moving.

When Mustang rolled his head numbly to the side, blinking sleepily at him, and Ed realized the general hadn't dropped in a dead faint, it was enough to shake the haze off him. He crawled forward, turning Mustang's unresisting body onto his side so he could get a better look at the wound. It was high up on his inner thigh, and there was no exit wound that he could see. "Bullet's still in you," he informed the general tersely, clapping his hands together to reform his arm into a blade and actually lowering it to the pantleg before he remembered the anti-alchemy array over the estate.

"Damn," he muttered, glaring at his metal hand. "Hey, Mustang, you got a knife on you?"

The general blinked at him, then grimaced, shaking his head for a few moments to clear it. "What? Uh, yeah." The grunt was followed by Mustang groping around in his pants pocket, finally withdrawing a small pocket knife.

Ed snatched it out of his grip, promptly dropped it, and reached for it again, cursing. He could barely hold the knife tight enough with both hands to stop the shaking; when he let go with one so he could pull at Mustang's pantleg, the unsteady grip wavered again, the blade trembling violently in the air.

Mustang's hand grabbed at his wrist, fingers latching in a iron grip before he could begin to cut the pantleg. Ed gritted his teeth, unsure if the hand felt so cold because Mustang _was_ that cold, or if the poison's next step was fever.

"Um. No way, Fullmetal. Nope."

Ed stared at him incredulously. "What? I need to see it!"

"And you're shaking like a leaf. And, less than an inch away from... a place that I'd rather you not ever see. Or touch. Ever." A hint of pink flushed through his cheeks, and the general stubbornly looked away, fingers still clamped urgently around his wrist. "No. Absolutely not."

Ed glowered at him. God, he was not serious. God damn _baby._ "Once again, I need to see the gunshot wound. You fucking wuss, it's not like I've never seen one before, anyway-"

"Let me put it this way, Fullmetal. If that knife slipped and chopped at my dick, I would then chop yours off. After I exploded you."

By the way he was glaring at him, Mustang actually would do it, too.

Giving up, Ed let the knife drop to the floor and backed up, holding up his hands in defeat. "Fine, you perverted bastard. Do it yourself." He glanced worriedly at the still spreading blood stain; definitely not just a graze. "But do it quickly."

With a satisfied nod, the general picked up the knife from the floor and lowered it back to his down to rest near the wound. He struggled against the wall, sitting up enough to see it and tightening his grip on the knife, clearly trying to hold it steady enough to use it.

The problem was, however, that he was as shaky as Ed.

Ed's excuse was the poison; he figured Mustang's was blood loss, pain, or some combination or both, but whatever it was, the general let the knife drop back to the ground after only a few seconds of trying to steady himself. "Well," he deadpanned after a long moment, leaning his head back against the wall. "I guess that settles that."

Once again, incredulous stare time, targeted right at Mustang. "Oh, come on, man. You're bleeding! Maybe you don't have a problem with that, but if Hawkeye shows up and you've bled to death because you're a stubborn asshole, she'll kill me. That woman scares me, Mustang, she will literally _kill_ me."

Mustang gave him a sidelong glare, doing his best to fold his arms with a stubborn huff. It just looked stupid, given the fact that he was only half-sitting upright and his hands were still shaking badly. "Well, what would you suggest?" he asked calmly, arcing one eyebrow. "If you get that twitchy hand of yours anywhere close to my dick, I will kill you."

Once again, calm enough to be a pleasant discussion over tea. Pompous asshole; like he had any composure to cling to right now.

Mustang was also dodging the rather obvious solution, and Ed grinned a little, looking at faint, pink flush of his cheeks again. Lo be it of him to take advantage... _but,_ sick as a dog as he was, and utterly miserable because of it, not to mention stuck in a room with _Mustang..._

After the number of times the bastard had called him short tonight, he was going to enjoy this.

"Isn't it obvious, Mustang?" Ed prodded, smirking, and tried to sit forward. Tried being the operative word, when his head swam, and he had to lean back against the wall again, inhaling a surprised gasp through his nose and trying to keep himself steady. He blinked a few times to clear his vision- he wanted to see the bastard's face for this- and the moment he could he met Mustang's confused stare with a grin. "Pants off, General."

The look on Mustang's face was a cross being the taste of something unpleasant and the surprise of being slapped.

"...Excuse me?"

"Unless you've got another ideas, Mustang." He grinned again, taking extreme pleasure in the way Mustang's eyes widened in subtle shock and the general scooted away from him with a grunt of pain, horrified.

"I am not taking off my... oh." The irritation contorting his face vanished, replaced by a blank surprise; the color drained away too, leaving him white as a sheet. "Ah... yeah. ...That's still bleeding. Yeah. Uh-huh. ...Still bleeding a lot, actually."

Ed's smile died on his lips. _Come on, brain, quit getting off track. This is serious._ "Mustang-" he said, reaching for him.

The general slumped bonelessly onto his side.

Shit.

Ed crawled closer, loosening Mustang's belt without further comment. A glance at the general's face showed he was still conscious, blinking blearily at the ceiling and looking rather surprised to find himself on his back, and Ed sighed in relief. Could've been worse. At least he was still in the room. "Oi, don't pass out on me, Mustang!"

"I'm not... just... reflecting," he said at last, clearly struggling to find the right words. He hissed through gritted teeth when Ed yanked the pants far enough down his hips to get to work, one hand contorting and writhing in pain. "Fucking shit, Ed!"

"You want a gentle nurse, next time don't get shot next to me." He shifted next to Mustang, trying to get a good look at the gunshot wound. It had missed the femoral artery, the bullet seeming to be embedded deep in muscle tissue. Despite missing anything vital, it still wept blood down his thigh, more than explaining Mustang's sudden bout of lightheadedness. "Reflecting on what?" he asked, trying to distract him as he started tearing at his sleeve, reducing it to strips of bandages.

Mustang's head whipped to the side, smacking painfully against the floor with another choked off hiss at the touch on his wound. "N-nothing much... just... was planning on a _different_ blond getting into my pants tonight."

Ed barely stopped his horrified screech at _that_ mental image.

"Fucking pervert," he muttered, when he'd found his voice again, and tied off the first bandage with more force than strictly necessary.

Mustang didn't respond to that, but he was pretty sure the expression on his face now was a pained, smug smirk.

"What about- _goddamn!-_ y-you?" he gasped at length, black eyes roaming to meet his. "How're you feeling?"

Ed paused as he reluctantly considered the question. The adrenaline of Mustang bleeding all over him was definitely helping him, but he could already tell it'd be short lived. "No worse than before," he said at length, then tied off the final bandage and resisted the urge to give it a firm pat. "I'll live. I think. So will you. Just, try not to move much."

The pale leg under his hand twitched through a painful spasm, and Mustang hissed again, clenching his eyes shut. "Not a problem," he gasped, when he could speak again. "Moving hurts like a son of a bitch."

"You swear like a sailor when you're in pain, you know."

"Oh, fuck- sorry, _screw_ you. There. That better for your virgin ears?"

Ed just rolled his eyes and sat back, leaning his head against the wall again and breathing hard through his nose. His gut roiled at him again, taking its revenge for the sudden excitement, and he shut his eyes, struggling to keep himself still.

"...Edward, you really don't look well."

He gritted his teeth, sucking in a hard, cold breath to try and calm his stomach. "Yeah, and neither do you. Point?"

"That would hold a lot more weight if your eyes were actually open, you know."

Groaning, Ed roused himself enough to crack open his eyes, squinting at the harsh light. Even that little bit was almost too much, and he glared at the blurry lump next to him. "There. Eyes, open. You still look like crap."

"...Charming."

He shut his eyes again, since the room had started to spin again and he really wasn't a fan of passing out. At the sound of rustling beside him, the noise signaling that Mustang was trying to move- probably closer to him- he folded his arms with a huff and said, "Look, neither of us want to be here, we both feel awful- can we just _not_ go at each others throats and wait _quietly_ until Hawkeye finds us?" Not that he didn't secretly enjoy their usual verbal sparring, but right now, Ed just didn't have the energy to keep it up, and more important than that, it was getting harder and harder to stop himself from throwing up. If he tried to engage in their usual arguing, Mustang would be able to tell that he was a lot worse than he was letting on pretty quick, and Ed just wasn't up for the interrogation that would spawn. His hope for now was just to keep himself under control and focus on counting the seconds until Hawkeye got there.

God, he felt like shit.

Mustang held silent for a few moments, the weight of his withering stare making the back of Ed's neck prickle, then finally just sighed. "Suit yourself, Fullmetal," he said, and then he was quiet.

* * *

Roy was worried.

Very worried.

A tired glance at his bloody pocket watch told him it had been around half an hour since they'd been locked in Grumman's vault, which also put it at over an hour since Ed had been poisoned. Ed had barely moved in all that time.

His former subordinate remained against the wall, only half upright, his eyes squeezed shut, his braid loose so disheveled hair dangled in front of his face. Roy could hear him breathing loudly from several feet away, each breath rough and measured, and by the way his hands were clenched over his stomach, he felt far worse than he'd said. He could tell the boy wasn't asleep, though had resolved long ago to start talking the moment he worried Ed was passing out; a medical degree he may have lacked, but he knew that falling asleep right now would be a very bad idea.

Roy had kept silent about his conclusions so far, not sure of how to say them without provoking Ed into a rage and not wanting to worry the kid, but the most severe problem was one simple fact.

Edward was small.

Half his size, and missing two limbs to boot; his blood volume was drastically lower than the average adult male's- the intended target of the poison. It was almost certain the poison would overwhelm him far faster than it would any adult, and given that they were still stuck in here with no way of knowing how soon help would come, that was very not good.

Of course, there was simply no way he could say that to Ed, not without prompting a screaming fit.

Roy grimaced, glancing towards the prone form of Bad Guy Number One on the other side of the room. While the criminal had yet to move after his last particularly vicious punch to the head, his gun was still on the floor, several yards away. If push came to shove, Roy could get it and just start firing at the floor to attract attention- but given that they weren't on the first floor, and there could be people beneath them, that was pretty low on his list of preferable options.

He looked towards the steel door with a scowl. Attempting to shoot off the lock was also an option. The both of them dying via ricochet was such a tantalizing possibility...

Sighing heavily, Roy lay his head back against the floor and shifted, clenching his teeth at the hot pain that crawled up his thigh to sink through his abdomen in back. How. Even. Fine, there was a bullet in his leg; how did one tiny, minuscule, Edward-sized bullet send pain slithering through him in magnified waves a trillion times larger than the size of the dammed wound itself?

Edward-sized bullet. _Ha._ That was definitely a good one, he thought absently; he would have to save it for a time when the kid would better be able to appreciate it.

Speaking of which...

"Ed," Roy called, and propped himself a little further up against the wall.

"Shut your face."

He rolled his eyes at the exhausted mumble. "Okay, then. Sure. Just thought you should know you're about to throw up."

Ed cracked an eye open in incredulous disbelief. "Excuse you," he snarled, staring at him, "but where do you get off thinking that you know what's... what's going on with..."

He trailed off into a heaved sort of breath, then turned a peculiar shade of green. Slowly, Ed leaned a little more forward off the wall, one hand rising hesitantly to clamp over his mouth.

Then he was lurching forwards and curling over himself to vomit on the floor.

Roy sighed- like this room, that was already so fucking pleasant, needed something _more_ to make it even worse- and he leaned back against the wall, just watching him. It amounted to little more than bile and there was no blood, so while the kid was clearly miserable and in pain, there was nothing extremely worrisome, or anything that could be done for him.

At last, Ed slumped, shaking violently, to curl up on his side. He turned to face Roy again, hugging himself and shivering, and bleary eyes fought to focus on his own. "...I hate you," he rasped, then groaned and buried his face in the crook of his arm.

Roy managed a sympathetic grin. "My mother's a bartender. I got very well acquainted with the signs of a man about to vomit from a very young age, Fullmetal."

"Didya also get _well acquainted_ with a metal fist in your face?"

"...That would be a no."

Ed huffed, raising his head just enough to glare at him again. "You should be preparing yourself, then. For when we get out of here. Cause all of this... it's _your fault."_

Roy stared in disbelief. "... _Mine?"_ he gasped, shocked. "How on earth is any of this _my_ fault?! _You_ stole my wine. _You_ got yourself poisoned. _You_ shut the _god damn_ door. _You're_ the one who's so tiny a drop of poison-"

"Finish that sentence, and next time I vomit on you!"

"-would. drown. you."

For a moment there, it actually looked as if Ed might explode.

Realizing that exploding could mean the kid would actually follow through with his threat and throw up on his head, Roy inched painfully away from him.

"That's _it,"_ Ed snarled at last. He pushed himself up to sit exhaustedly against the wall again, one hand jerking to loosen his tie and then free his braid, the other pointing at him. "You're dead. _Dead._ The moment we get out of here, you're _dead!_ This whole thing is _your fault_ anyway; why don't you try being more likable so people don't try and kill you, bastard?!"

"Likable. _Likable!_ I suppose my date tonight and Miss Armstrong asking me to dance were all in my imagination, then. And where is the lady on your arm this evening, Fullmetal? Is she just so tiny I can't see her?"

" _Catherine only asked you to dance because I made her!"_

Roy gaped.

What?

Ed, little hellcat that he was, grinned victoriously, somehow managing to look smug and proud even while drawn, pale, and shaking. "That's right," he announced, still beaming. "Loser. Like she'd actually want to dance with _you..._ feh. Needed to get to your wine somehow, after all."

...

Well.

He could've lived and died happy not knowing he'd been scammed into a date by _Fullmetal,_ of all people.

Blinking slowly, Roy tried to recover some sense of composure, decided that venture was going to fail miserably, and settled for simply folding his arms and glaring at the opposite wall. "If you were still in the military you'd have just given yourself latrine duty for a year."

"It's funny, really. The way you talk like I would've actually done it."

"Unless you managed to make yourself flame retardant, you would have."

Ed grinned viciously. "Oh, I'm _sorry,_ General," he taunted, bloodshot eyes bright. "I didn't realize I was supposed to be scared... scared of... _mmmph!"_

Roy raised an eyebrow, watching as the kid hurtled away from him to vomit onto the floor again. _Could've warned you,_ he thought, though rather than say it aloud, he just watched silently, already reconsidering the validity of his earlier plan to shoot into the floor for help. Very clearly, Ed needed medical attention, and whatever this poison was, it was taking its toll on him more and more. There was nothing he could do for the kid like this and if he got much worse...

Wait.

"You didn't take my wine. My wine was still sitting there when I got back."

Ed heaved for another few moments, and when he finally managed to stop long enough to get his breath back, two amber eyes glared incredulously back at him even as he sweated and gasped in a heap. "The fuck, Mustang?"

"My wine," he insisted, rubbing his throbbing head. "It was still there... and I _drank_ it... but if you switched them- my god, Fullmetal, what did I _have?"_

Ed continued to stare at him, still curled over onto himself and gripping at his stomach, trembling and wheezing. "Could there p-possibly be a-a- _anything_ l-less important for y-you to focus on?!"

Some part at the back of his mind spoke up to say that Ed was right, and that was just completely irrelevant and unimportant right now, and he should be focusing on making sure the kid was okay, not questioning him. But by this point, he'd lost enough blood to find that voice easy to brush aside, rationality and logic both things that didn't interest his fuzzy head as much as ferreting out this odd truth. "Fullmetal... what the hell did you give me?"

When he didn't relent and just kept staring insistently at him, the kid took another haggard breath, still trembling, and sank onto his back. "...Salt water, you son of a bitch," he grumbled hoarsely, eyes on the ceiling. "...I gave you salt water. There. Happy now? Can the interrogation stop?"

" _Salt water?!"_

"Shut up. Quit whining like you've never had worse. It's not going to kill you."

"You gave me _salt water?!"_

"Whine whine. Whine whine whine. _Whine._ That's what I hear. _Whine."_

" _You're dead, Fullmetal!"_

" _Not if you don't bleed to death first, bastard! WHINE!"_

" _I'm going to-"_

" _WHINE WHINE WHINE WHINE-"_

"Could you guys _please_ be quiet? _Please?!_ "

Ed broke off and Roy whipped around, both staring down at the criminal who had chosen to finally regain consciousness. He was blinking blearily at them, still slumped on his stomach but raising his head a little to look at them, his face indescribably pained.

"Come on," he pleaded desperately a moment later. "Take me to prison, I don't even care any more, just stop talking. You... you guys are _insufferable!"_

Nice.

This situation just _had_ to find a way to get worse.

And now he was being called insufferable by the guy who'd _shot him._

Double nice.

"Shut up," he and Ed chorused together, and, thankfully, the bastard just let his head hit the ground and looked the other way.

"I still hate you," Ed muttered after only giving silence a try for several seconds, and Roy promptly decided this would be a much more enjoyable venture if he would just pass out from the blood loss.

Or if Ed would pass out himself, actually.

...Damn it, no, he needed to be the one to pass out. Because if Ed did, then he'd end up spending the next however many hours worrying about him, the _brat._ But wait. If _he_ was the one to end up unconscious, alone in a room with Ed and snarky criminal over there, wasn't that arguably worse? Hell, Ed and snarky criminal man would probably team up to ensure he didn't make it out of this alive. Or at least see to it that his limp body was arranged to be as one hundred percent embarrassing as possible when Hawkeye broke down the door...

Oh.

Speaking of that, actually.

His pants were still down around his knees.

_...Fuck my life._

Why? Did blood loss count as an excuse? Did exhaustion? Did being lightheaded, because he was pretty sure if Ed didn't pass out first he would end up hitting the floor, at some point. Whatever the reason, Roy was now convinced that the universe hated him.

It was a gigantic pain in the ass to move, but he was not about to sit here like this for a single second longer, no matter the cost. Gritting his teeth, Roy struggled to contort his way towards his belt without moving his injured leg. It stung and itched like mad, but so long as he could rectify this hell any pain would be worth it...

The sound of Ed snickering in his corner again made him reconsider just how irritated he was with the brat.

"Something amusing, Fullmetal?" he snapped, refusing to look upwards.

Ed snickered. Again. "Nice underwear, jackass."

Annnnd cue hatred. Instant hatred.

"They. were. a. gift," he fairly snarled through clenched teeth. "A _gift."_

His face was probably red because he was furious, he decided. Not flushing in embarrassment.

"From who?" Ed snarked back. Snickered. "An ex girlfriend? Someone you'd arrested? Because I'm pretty sure whoever gifted them to you _hated_ you."

"...It was Hughes, actually," he admitted grudgingly, finally succeeding in yanking his pants back over the gunshot wound. "And I'm pretty sure he did hate me back then, yes. Grinned like a god damn idiot the whole time, too."

Because he just should have known that the ridiculous, criminally stupid, horrendously terrible _boxers covered in tiny flames_ were destined to be seen and mocked by Ed the moment Hughes had found them in the store.

"Does Hawkeye know?" Ed snickered, eyes glinting evilly- and Roy stiffened.

"...Who exactly do you think my blonde lady friend is tonight, Fullmetal?"

Ed held still for several moments, then abruptly snickered again, and there was no doubt about it anymore- absolutely _radiating_ evil. "Ohhh, I don't think so, Mustang. Not even you would be dumb enough to let her see you in those. In fact, if she saw you in it, I'm pretty sure she'd just glare at you until you withered up and died." He laughed again himself, leaning his head back against the wall in tearful mirth. "She _doesn't_ know, does she? She doesn't know!

He hated his life.

"Fullmetal..."

"So?" Ed asked, smirking. He sat forward a little, beaming eagerly. "What's it worth to you?"

Hated it. Hated it so much.

"Fullmetal," he intoned calmly, "I will throw you off a cliff myself if you breathe a single word."

"And you know what I'll scream on the way down?" Ed threatened, and at that point Roy wondered if he could impose a new law on acceptable levels of gleefulness- because the way the kid was looking at him should've been considered illegal. "I'll scream, _Hawkeye! Guess what General Dipshit has!"_

"I will murder you in your sleep."

Ed smirked, nearly choking on another laugh. "This is the best day of my life," he said after a moment, leaning his head back again, and Roy sighed in defeat.

He. _hated._ his life.

Ed, meanwhile, was still chortling at him, and Roy wouldn't have been surprised if he ended up laughing so hard he suffocated. "Why are you even wearing them? I doubt _Hughes_ even thought that shit would get any use," he pointed out smugly, voice trembling with barely suppressed laughter.

"Well," Roy began, gritting his teeth again through some terrible combination of pain and embarrassment, "that would be because the lovely blonde I'm meeting with after this requested it."

To that, Ed's only response was to throw up again.

Roy sighed heavily. "I'm glad the very thought of my nighttime exploits remains to repulsive to you, Fullmetal. Next time, if you don't want to hear about _adults_ do in their spare time, then kindly don't ask."

...And, he was still throwing up.

"...Ed?"

...

Okay, this wasn't good.

"Ed," he groaned, again pushing himself off the wall and turning towards him. The kid had curled on his side again, his back to him, gasping as he struggled against sickness. Roy cursed under his breath, weighing his options as he started to drag himself across the room.

When he reached him, Ed had managed to stop being sick, but only barely, and his wide, red-rimmed eyes didn't even seem to notice him. Roy shook him a little by the shoulder, trying to get his attention. "Hey, Ed? You all right?" When that got nothing, he snapped his fingers in front of his eyes, trying to slow the brewing concern. "Hey! Pipsqueak!"

Ed flinched a little, reeling away from his hand. His bloodshot eyes were still blearily focused away from him, though, and the shoulder under his hand shook. "Shut up," he croaked, voice tiny and hoarse. "Shut... shut up."

Roy bit back a groan. "My apologies for trying to ascertain you were still alive, Full-"

"No... not..." Ed sighed quietly in frustration, still not looking at him. "Mmph. Not... you."

"...What?"

Ed hesitated, then at last limply lifted his metal hand, pointing towards the corner of the room. "There."

"...Ed," Roy said hesitantly, his heart thudding in anxiety, "there's no one there."

"I know that. But..." Ed shivered violently, still staring towards the corner and refusing to so much as look at him. "...I see someone there, anyway. And he's talking to me."

It took him a moment to get it, but the second he did, his heart dropped.

"You're _hallucinating,_ now?"

Ed bit his lip. "...Yeah. Unless my dad came back to life and has taken up harassing me from over there, yeah, Mustang. I'm hallucinating, too."

Roy gaped at him, then swore, his heart pounding. This was going from bad to worse too quickly for him to control. He had to get Ed out of here, _now._ "How long has this been going on for?" he snapped, tense, trying to ascertain a timeline of symptoms here. He dropped the back of his hand against Ed's cheek, feeling for fever, then gasped. "Damn it, Fullmetal! You're burning up!"

Ed finally roused a little, scowling as he tried to pull away- but still glaring towards the corner rather than him. "Leave me alone- both of you. Leave me alone."

"No," Roy snapped succinctly, trying to maneuver Ed's unhelpfully limp form so he could could work the suit jacket off of him.

"H-hey! Pervert, quit-"

" _Must_ you assume every single move I make is a sexual advance? Fullmetal, you have the filthiest mind I have ever heard of."

Ed tried to squirm out of his grip, not calming down in the least. "You're the one _undressing-"_

"And you were only too eager to undress _me,_ earlier, you unrepentant brat," Roy snapped, finally succeeding in getting the jacket off and going for the tie next. "You're hot as hell and need to cool down. So quit fighting me. Yell at your father if you want to argue with someone."

Ed glared at him again, letting him work now but still seeming distinctly uncomfortable with it all. "Oh, t-trust me," he muttered, "I'll yell at both of you assholes."

Roy sighed heavily. "I'd expect nothing less..." He managed to get the tie off and went for the top few buttons of his dress shirt, trying not to pay too much attention to how severely the kid was practically radiating heat at him. How had he missed this before? How _long_ had he missed it for?

"...No," Ed muttered suddenly, and it took Roy a moment to realize he wasn't the one being addressed. " _You_ shut your mouth. Bastard... what?! No! That's..."

"Ed, if I may amend my earlier statement- argue with your father _silently."_ Roy swallowed, trying to sound more at ease than he actually felt. "This is just unsettling."

"Now _you_ shut up, bastard!"

"...I'm not sure which one of us you're talking to."

Ed groaned miserably, shutting his eyes and curling up a little more into himself, as if trying very hard to ignore his presence. "You're both bastards," he moaned, burying his head in the crook of his arm. "I hate you all... no, _shut up,_ Hohenheim!"

Roy put a hand on his shoulder, trying to keep him on his side even as he winced at the obvious discomfort in his voice. He wished there was something more he could do- but trapped like this, there really wasn't... Ed needed a doctor, not a helpless military general bleeding all over him...

"Gah," Ed moaned again, head still hidden from view. "Make him shut up, Mustang. Shut... make him _shut up..._ "

Roy held still for a moment, trying to gauge the seriousness of the request. If he was just whining, then that was that. If he was serious, though... _this is bad._ "Fullmetal?"

The kid shifted the bury his head against his hands even more. "Van Holier-Than-Thou! Come on, Mustang, kill him! The shit he's saying... I _know_ you can't stand it either..."

Shit. He was serious.

"...All right," he agreed at last, struggling to keep his voice calm. "Sure. I'll kill him. I can't hear what he's saying, though... mind passing it on?" He just said anything he could think of to keep Ed relatively at ease as he started to pull off Ed's sweat-sticky shirt, racking his mind for any way to cool him off. This fever was climbing even higher, and surely doing no wonders for Ed's coherency. He had to do something, and quickly.

Ed pushed absentmindedly at his hands, not really seeming too aware or bothered by what he was doing anymore. "Aren't you listening, bastard? The bastard's pointing out that I yell at you like I used to yell at him... like... l-like you're my _dad,_ or something. So go kill him for it!" He pointed haphazardly towards the corner. "Come on, bastard! You going to let him get away with saying shit like that?!"

Yes. This was _definitely_ unsettling.

Possibly the most unsettling moment of his life.

"...Well," he managed weakly, when he'd finally found his voice, "I don't really have much of a choice, _son._ Given that he's not real and all."

"What are you talking about?! He's- he's right there! Being... being all pompous and smug and... like _you!_ " Ed jerked away abruptly from his hand, eyes widening in hurt and betrayal as if he'd just realized something very important. "That's why you won't hit him, isn't it? You're both bastards! You _like_ each other!"

This conversation had now officially gone completely off the rails. "Yep, that's it, Fullmetal," he groaned, too exhausted and in too much pain to keep up with his ailing subordinate's ill ravings. "I'm friends with Hohenheim. That is why I am not going to go hunt down his grave, dig up his corpse, and punch him for you. That is exactly why."

" _I knew it!"_ Ed howled, writhing away from him like he'd just been slapped. "You son of a bitch! You- you're _both_ sons of bitches!"

"Following that logic, that makes you the son of a son of a bitch. Arguably not much better."

Ed stared at him with wide eyes, clearly struggling to process what had been said, the statement too much for him to follow in his addled state. After several long, confused moments, the kid simply dropped his head into his hands again and pulled further away from him, curling up in his own corner. He huddled around himself in miserable, sick loneliness. "I hate you both," he moaned again, then curled up into himself even more. "Shut up. Shut _up,_ Van HohenDick..."

...Damn it, no. He wasn't feeling sympathetic.

"Shut _up..."_

No. He most certainly was not.

Ed moaned, breaths hitching. "More of an asshole than Mustang..."

See? He definitely wasn't feeling sympathetic after that last comment. _More_ of an asshole than him; sheesh. All he was trying to do was keep him from dying, and here was the thanks he got...

Ed stiffened abruptly, lifting his gaze to stare towards his 'father' in horror. He stared at him for several moments, eyes widening, then abruptly doubled over, pressing his hands over his ears and shaking his head, trembling. "Shut your god damn mouth. You're not any better than him. At least _Mustang_ didn't abandon... Fuck you, I'd punch you before him! And harder than him, too! You get my automail fist!"

Roy stared at him, blinking. "Are you seriously defending me to a dead man? ...Wait, scratch that last part. Are you seriously defending _me,_ period, Fullmetal?"

But if Ed could hear him, the kid gave no sign of it. He shouted another insult at his father, then abruptly shrunk back, whimpering. He curled up even tighter and continued to cover his ears, shaking his head back and forth miserably. "Quit it. Leave me _alone..._ s- stop..."

...Shit.

" _Stop it..."_

And, there he had it. Fullmetal, dragging his heart out. Stomping it gleefully. Handing it back to him with a smile, all mangled and beat up.

"S-stop..."

Shit.

His head swam when he pushed himself back off the wall again, painfully reminding him he had his own injuries to worry about. Roy obstinately ignored it, dragging himself closer and paying no mind to the blood smearing in his wake, managing to get himself over to Ed's side again and return his hand to his shoulder. "Ed."

Ed flinched at being touched, pushing himself further away and closing his eyes, hands still pressed over his ears. Damn it. "Hey," Roy muttered, reaching forward to grab one of his wrists and pull it off. The token resistance was weak, and that worried him more than anything thus far. "You little shit, I'm trying to help you. Least you can do is listen."

Ed flinched again, eyes hesitantly cracking open. He continued to stare away from him, gaze fixated on the opposite corner. Roy grimaced. " _Hey,"_ he said again, releasing his wrist only to grab his chin and force him to look at him. "Ignoring me is not letting me help you, Ed."

"I..."

He tightened his grip when Ed tried to pull away, staring at him head on. "Ignore Hohenheim. Ignore him, got it?"

Ed leaned back a little, a whimper sounding in his throat. "...He's louder than you, Mustang," he whispered, and his eyes started to drift towards to the corner again.

Roy cleared his throat, raising his voice. "Well I can't let that happen, can I? No one shouts louder than me. Not in my office. Except for you, sometimes."

"Cause you're an idiot, and don't listen to anything but shouting."

Roy sighed, hanging his head. "You know who the idiot is? You. I _told_ you to tell me the moment you felt worse. Why did you insist on being stubborn and keeping quiet? Did it ever occur to you that, as much as you don't like me, I actually am _trying_ to make sure you get out of this alive?"

"...Look, it wasn't like that, okay." Ed broke off for a moment, gaze drifting towards the corner again; Roy gripped his chin harder and refused to let him look away. "Why worry you? Nothing... nothing you can do..."

"I'm doing something now, aren't I?"

Ed sighed quietly, falling limp. His glazed eyes continued to try and wonder, but they came back to focus on him willingly this time, hazy with pain and exhaustion. "You're both bastards," he mumbled at last, voice weak, and he closed his eyes for a moment. "But you're a little bit less of one than him. And he's still louder than you, you wuss."

A ghost from the dead who wasn't even real was still managing to be louder than him? Well, that just wouldn't do. What would happen to his reputation if _that_ got out?

God, Ed had a way of making even the most insufferable situations ridiculous.

"Well," Roy started, then swayed, his head spinning. Blinking rapidly, he shifted to nearly collapse against the wall, barely keeping himself upright. His leg pulsed agonizingly and his head swam, gut churning, and it took all he had to clutch on to Ed still like a lifeline and keep himself conscious. "...Well."

"Bastard," Ed moaned blearily, but he wasn't looking at him.

Roy winced. "I actually am one, you know," he groaned distractedly, struggling to find a position against the wall where he could both hold Ed and not be in such extreme pain. His vision blurred dizzyingly and he nearly fell again.

"...Huh?"

He shrugged absentmindedly as he continued to shift, then gasped in pain and thought better of moving. "Dad split before I was born," he explained through a grimace, leaning his head back against the wall. "Never met him."

"...Oh." Ed blinked up at him, finally paying more attention to him than the ghost of his father. He remained limp and unresisting in his grip, shivering periodically, and after several moments before glancing away, wincing. "...I, uh... wouldn't have called you that... you know, if I'd- known. I mean, I guess I am one myself, so I, uh... know how that is..."

"What?" Roy stared at him, almost taken aback, then chuckled weakly. "Oh, no. I don't mind. Like I said, I never knew him." There was a very large difference, after all, between never knowing his father, and watching him walk out the door to never come back. Couldn't miss what you never had, he supposed.

At his words, Ed's frown deepened, his eyes coloring in pained confusion. "...If you don't care, why'd you tell me?"

"Because..." Roy stiffened, frowning. Why _had_ he told him? "...Hell if I know. Probably delirious from blood loss."

Ed shifted tiredly. "Oh," he mumbled at length, eyes falling shut with a weak grin. "Well, that's touching."

" _And,"_ he pressed on, bleary mind hit with sudden inspiration, "because it'd be downright rude of you to still pay Hohenheim more attention than me when I was telling you _such_ a _deeply personal_ story." He prodded Ed's shoulder a little, trying to keep the both of them awake. "Not that being downright rude is ever a concern of yours- but, hey, it worked, didn't it?"

"...Manipulative prick." Ed sighed, curling into himself a little more with an exhausted, miserable shiver. "You're... you are louder than my dad. Unbelievable."

Roy sighed in relief. _Good._ "Well, obviously," he heard himself remark aloud, but his voice was distant, drifting through several layers of fog. Swaying a little, he let his head fall to lean against the wall, staring down at the kid in his arms through half-lidded eyes. "No one's louder than me... not in my... office..."

"...Mustang?"

"...Mmmrph," he mumbled, and with that, he slumped forward onto Ed, out cold.


	3. Sucks a Little Less

First the piggyback ride.

Then the whole lying-in-Mustang's-arms deal. Never to be mentioned again. Ever.

And now, this.

Quite simply, Ed was never going to another party with Mustang again.

It took a monumental effort for him to worm himself out from under the bastard's dead weight. Then, even more of one to not up and be sick all over him. Breathing hard, Ed pressed a hand to his mouth, struggling to keep himself steady. Damn it, he felt _awful._

After several seconds, he finally managed to calm his stomach down enough for him to poke at Mustang's side, turning the general over onto his back. His breathing was shallow and the wound had started to bleed again, but Ed already knew he was too shaky to manage bandaging again, not to mention, after throwing up so many times, his hands were _filthy._ Sticking his fingers into an open wound was just a bad idea.

"Oi, Mustang," he called weakly, poking at his shoulder again. "Wake up. Come on, bastard..."

"I have never heard bastard used as such a term of endearment, Ed," stupid Hohenheim sing-songed from his stupid corner. "When you call him that, it reminds me of how you used to talk to me."

" _Shut up,"_ he snarled, refusing to look at the man again. "You're both bastards! Both of you! You _both_ suck- Mustang just sucks a little less! Hey, Mustang, you hear that- I paid you a compliment! So wake up so you can die from the shock of it!"

Mustang did not respond, however, and Ed frowned, prodding at his shoulder again. Not good. Very not good. What could he do for blood loss? Could alchemize some of the blood back into him, he supposed... oh wait, no alchemy... not to mention that was just a dumb idea... could... hmm...

"Oh, just look at the two of you, like that. You know, Ed, when he was holding you earlier?"

"Shut your dammed mouth, Hohenfuckface," Ed snapped, prodding the general again. "Bastard, wake up."

"You looked like father and son." Hohenheim paused, and Ed could almost _feel_ the smug air that reminded him too much of Mustang radiating from him in evil waves. "It was _adorable."_

He wanted to throw up again.

"Y-you... _gah!"_ Ed screamed in frustration, giving up in his stubborn refusal to acknowledge him and whipping his head up to stare at him. "You're not even _real,_ screw you, Hohenheim would never say something so _dumb_ anyway, you're just here to piss me off, _go away,_ you're horrible, _you're_ the reason Mustang got worse in the first place, he ignored his leg to help me because of _you,_ you, you- you insufferable- you-"

Hohenheim clapped his hands together and beamed, criminally delighted. "Ah, you care so much for him! Delightful!"

Ed's patience snapped away into nothing.

" _FUCK YOU! I HATE YOU BOTH! I JUST HATE HIM A LITTLE LESS!"_ he screamed, whipping off his shoe to throw across the room at him. It bounced harmlessly against the corner after sailing through his face, and Ed let out a wordless cry of frustration. _"YOU'RE BOTH AWFUL!"_

Mustang groaning underneath him was actually a godsend, because it managed to make him turn away from smiling-not-real-Hohenheim and poke the general again. "Bastard, I can't believe you left me here alone with him," he hissed, resisting the urge to press his hands over his ears, knowing it would do no good. "Damn you. You betrayed me. You _suck."_

He shifted his hand to poke at his face instead of his shoulder, then frowned. Hesitantly, Ed moved his finger forward again to rest it against his cheek.

Mustang was freezing.

 _Oh..._ he realized belatedly, _yeah... blood loss. Duh. Blood loss can do that. Wait, are you sure he's cold? He said you had a fever. Maybe he's not cold, maybe you're hot. Maybe... oh, just shut it._

If Mustang wasn't actually cold now, he was going to be so soon. Besides, this was the only thing he could actually help with.

Except now that he knew what he had to do, he wanted to go retrieve the gun from across the room just so he could shoot himself with it.

Steeling himself, Ed took in a breath and maneuvered himself as best he could, trying to keep his automail from touching him. He carefully lifted himself up over him, valiantly ignoring his stomach when it rose at the motion.

"...You keep your stupid mouth shut, Hohenheim," Ed muttered furiously, squeezed his eyes shut- and then, sharing his overly high body heat with him in what was the only option he had, Ed wrapped his arm around Mustang and dropped down to lie across his chest, head resting over his heart.

This was, without a doubt, the most embarrassing moment of his life.

"Oh, Ed... you two look so _sweet..."_

"I thought I told you to _shut up,"_ he hissed, keeping his eyes shut. "I'm not his son, he's not my stupid dad, he's just- if he weren't busy trying to bleed out, then the only reason I'd be this close to him would be to punch him! So _shut up."_ He cursed under his breath, trying not to think about the fact that he was snuggling the _bastard._ The bastard! Of all people, why, why, _why,_ the _bastard?!_

His life was _horrible._

The cold general shivered a little underneath him, head rolling on the ground, and Ed grimaced.

"Damn you, Mustang," he muttered, and tightened his arm around him. "Don't you dare die."

Mustang shivered again, but beyond that, did not respond- and somehow, Ed just knew Hohenheim was smiling again.

It took several minutes for Mustang to really stir- several minutes during which Hohenheim gleefully took every opportunity to irritate him to death. He only barely managed to use Mustang's predicament to drown out most of what was said, and when the general groaned and turned his head a little, brow furrowing, Ed found himself instantly relieved that the only thing he had to keep him from listening to his father was coming back.

"Oi, Mustang," he called weakly, still clinging to him, trying to warm him up as much as he could. "You with me?"

Mustang shifted a little, frowning deeply. He cracked his eyes open, blinking at the ceiling for several seconds before lowering his head to look down at himself.

He abruptly froze.

"...Fullmetal?"

"...Before you lay into me, just think: would I really be cuddling your pervert ass if I had _any other choice?_ "

Mustang frowned at him for several moments, eyes clouded, then just lay his head back down on the ground with a weary huff. "Actually, no."

Ed sighed, relieved the bastard wasn't going to press the point. "Damn straight," he muttered, and shut his eyes again. Maybe if just pretended this was a big, uncomfortable, bastard pillow...

"Well, this is embarrassing," Mustang muttered after a moment. He shifted on the floor, seeming extremely uncomfortable, and lifted one arm up to lie it heavily over his back, pressing him a little closer.

Ed stiffened. Now it was even _worse._ Now Mustang was hugging him back, and just... _no._ "Never breathe a word of this to anyone, bastard. Got that?"

Mustang shuddered. "Don't need to tell me that," he said, then suddenly smirked, as if hit by an idea. "Of course I won't say anything... _son."_

Ed froze.

"...What did you just say?"

For a moment there, he thought he'd misheard him, the comment was so _stupid._ But no; Mustang's weak, unfocused eyes gleamed smugly, his smirk broadened, and he sassed, "Oh, nothing. Nothing at all, _son."_

* * *

Six hours after they had disappeared from the party, Ed and Mustang were finally tracked down to Fuhrer Grumman's vault. Hawkeye stood back calmly as Havoc and Breda worked their way through the locked door, gun in hand and just waiting for her superior to come into sight.

"Captain?" Fuery spoke up nervously from behind her. "Do you hear that? I... I think I can hear yelling." He pointed nervously at the vault.

Havoc snorted. "Course you can. The chief and the boss? Locked in a room with each other for six hours? The only reason there _wouldn't_ be yelling is if they'd managed to murder each other... oh, we got it, Captain! Stand back, everyone!" He and Breda grabbed at the door together, heaving it open.

The moment the seal had been broken, the muffled shouts escalated to become enraged screaming, and the moment it had swung open enough to reveal the inside of the vault, Ed and Mustang were revealed to be the ones screaming.

And killing each other.

Mustang was currently flat on his back, a bloody mess, flailing while pinned by a struggling Ed, who was a sweaty, ill mess, with hands locked around his throat. The general, for his part, had grabbed Ed by the hair, yanking brutally on his long braid and kicking, not that it was doing any good to dislodge the fighting teen off of him.

And, completely ignorant to their new audience, the two kept on fighting and screaming bloody murder.

" _Take it back!"_ Ed was shouting, squeezing even tighter around his throat. _"Take it back NOW!"_

" _You're the one who said it, not me!"_ Mustang screamed the second he managed to knock Ed's hands loose and grab a breath of air. "I'm just repeating what you said! _SON!"_

" _BASTARD!"_

" _SON!"_

" _ **BASTARD!"**_

" _ **SOOOOOON!"**_

" _AGH!"_ Ed screamed, raising a fist to punch him. _"You are the most annoying son of a bitch, you bastard, you're even worse than-"_

" _Runt! Kid! Brat! Miniature grain of sand sized idiot stubborn SON!"_

" _I'LL KILL YOU-"_

The gunshot stopped them.

"Gentlemen," Hawkeye announced, clearing her throat.

Ed and Mustang both froze midst-wrestle. It was unclear whether it was her voice, or the smoking bullet hole an inch away from Mustang's ear, had stopped them.

"Er... Hawkeye..." Ed stumbled, eyes wide.

Mustang croaked out a nervous chuckle, the sound jumping up at least an octave in his anxiety. "...Good evening, Captain?" he tried, attempting a smile.

She sighed.

"I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times, sirs," she snapped, holstering her weapon. "If you wish to kill yourselves during your free time, that is your prerogative. But don't do so during a mission. It creates unnecessary paperwork."

The both of them wilted, thoroughly cowed.

"...Yes, ma'am," they chorused together, radiating defeat.

Ed, before he withdrew fully, flicked Mustang in the face with one of his metal fingers.

* * *

"...And that's what happened."

Al stared.

Hawkeye stared.

Mustang sulked.

Ed flushed, and looked down at his feet.

"Brother?"

"...Yes, Al?"

"You're forbidden from drinking anything ever again."

" _Wha-"_

"I'm sorry, it's forbidden. Mustang's right; it's obviously an unwritten law of the universe that if you even get near it, chaos has to result. Brother, I'm sorry, but for the good of the world, you can never do it again."

Ed moaned, sinking back against the sheets with the gut-wrenching feel of betrayal. In his opinion, this was all obviously Mustang's fault. He _really_ didn't see how the fact that chaos was attracted to him like a magnet was anything they could blame on _him!_

But, like Al _loved_ to remind everyone, his life was an insane one. If he walked into a harmless building filled with kittens, because he was Edward Elric, those kittens would instantly metamorphosize into giant cat-demon chimeras with the dream of unleashing hell upon the world. Because he was Edward Elric, and that was just how shit _happened._

"I hate you all," Ed grunted darkly, glaring over at the opposite wall.

Al smiled. "Love you, too, Brother!" he called cheerfully- and, damnit, that was all Al _ever_ had to do to get his forgiveness, just look at him like that. Al stood, waving, then turned off towards the door. "I'm going to go talk to your doctor. _Stay put,_ Brother... I will know if you don't."

Mustang chortled, smirking like the absolute right _bastard_ that he was, and Ed once again felt his hatred rekindle for everyone in the room.

Hawkeye rose as well, standing at attention despite the fact that the only superior in the room was a _loser._ "And I have to be getting back to the office, sir. Someone has to run HQ while you're away, after all, General."

"Oh?" Mustang grinned, raising an eyebrow. "Ah, yes, that's right- I know my absence must have left you all in such a lurch! I forget, sometimes, how much you all rely on me... Tell me, Captain, is the office on the cusp of a breakdown without my leadership? Are the secretaries surviving without my charm? Are you all only subsisting off the lingering remnants of my brilliance?"

Ed sunk even lower in bed, and briefly wondered if he was going to vomit again.

"Actually, sir," Hawkeye returned, perfectly deadpan, "I think the only time I've heard your name in the past three days is when the arms division thanked me for submitting their quarterly report on time. Evidently, they have not seen this since your promotion to general."

Scratch his earlier hatred.

He hated Mustang, and hated-except-not-really Al... but he loved Hawkeye.

"...Ah. I... see." The general smiled tightly, shoulders strained, and seemed to retain his grin only with great difficulty even as he shifted in his seat, folding his arms. "That's wonderful, then."

Hawkeye saluted again, with a smile so tiny Ed wasn't even sure if he'd imagined it. "Quite, sir." She turned towards the door, then swiveled back around with the same glare Al had had. "If I even hear a word about you trying to discharge yourself against medical advice-"

"I understand, Captain."

Her returned smile was just as evil as Al's had been. "Very good, sir. I'll see you tomorrow."

With their resident keepers now gone, Ed and Mustang were left alone in the small hospital room, the general still seeming to be trying to overcome the sense of embarrassment after being told off by his adjutant, and Ed still bristling with hatred at them all. Mustang glanced at him for a moment, dark eyes unreadable, then just shrugged, lurching himself up to his feet with a pair of crutches. "Well," he began awkwardly, "I should probably be off, too."

"Why; hit on your nurse?"

This time, Mustang's scowl was in tandem with a slight flush, and he looked as if he would've crossed his arms if he could've managed it. "Actually, they had to undress me when I got here. A whole room of medical staff saw the... thing. The thing that you're not permitted to mention to Hawkeye, or anyone else."

It was finally Ed's turn for the evil grin.

"Oh," he chuckled, smirking. "Yes. The _thing."_

Mustang coughed, his flush deepening. "Yes, well, my nurse was one of those to witness this. Suffice it to say, she's not interested, and Hughes' ghost is around here somewhere, laughing its ass off at me."

"You know, I may hate _you,_ bastard, but I really do think I love your friends."

"You _would."_ Glowering, Mustang lurched around to limp towards the door, and all Ed knew was that he was finally getting time to himself and that was all he really wanted. He settled back in bed to tuck his arm behind his head again, already considering how to best scam his way into an extra bit of cherry jello.

"...Ed?"

"Ohhh no," he groaned, shutting his eyes. "You can't promise you're gonna leave then stick around like this. Dick move, Mustang. Dick move."

For several moments, there was no answer.

Then, when it had just been long enough Ed was about to think something was wrong, the general spoke.

"You know, Ed, as a son? ...You suck."

...

"Ex _cuse_ me, you irresponsible evil ugly bag of _shit-"_

"But, you also suck a little less than anything I imagined I'd ever have."

And then, with a smirk tossed over his shoulder, he was gone- before Ed could decide whether or not he was too embarrassed to be insulted.


End file.
